


Tide the Hell Outta It

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Humor, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Prompt:</b> Anonymous on spnkink_meme : "Dean and Cas are in a D/s relationship. As told by Sam. I'd pretty much just love to see how Sam deals with it; from the embarrassing (like finding a ballgag in the backseat or catching them mid 'scene'), to the awkward (e.g Cas calling Dean 'sir' in front of Sam), to the downright disturbing (really, he never needed to know what Dean looks like in leather chaps, or just how well Cas could pull off panties). I'd really love it if all the creepy, weird shit aside, in the end Sam can see how much both of them need this, how happy they are, and decides that anything that makes his brother smile like that has to be pretty okay, actually."</p><p><b>Summary:</b> Dean and Castiel seemed to have worked out a system, they both get what they need. The only problem is they have absolutely no discretion and Sam is pretty sure he hates his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tide the Hell Outta It

The first thing Sam noticed was that Castiel always used Dean’s name. It wasn’t that unusual, just another angel quirk- yes Dean, no Dean. It bothered Sam more that Castiel didn’t use his name, but that was probably because Castiel didn’t really like him. In fact, when Castiel appeared they might all be in the same room but it was inevitably all-eyes on Dean. Just like at the bar, just like every single case, just like back in high school. Dean the giant eyeball magnet and Sam, official second fiddle.

When Sam found the first toy, it wasn’t that big of a deal- Dean was a creep. Actually, he was a giant man-whoring creep who apparently got his freak on with a riding crop, but all the same. It wasn’t a sex-shop deal either, not that Sam did a lot of riding but idle curiosity and a quick palm-slap confirmed that it was designed for the express purpose of ouch followed immediately by go faster, stupid horse. All in all it wouldn’t have boiled down to anything, if it wasn’t for what happened in Kentucky.

It was a run of the mill case and they’d had a little extra time to take in a race. Planted awkwardly between Dean and Castiel, Sam had gotten himself a hotdog, double mustard. The horses were sleek and shiny, chomping at the bit for the sounding bell. Sam thought it was a little cruel, but he supposed the horses probably got the best of everything in between, good food and good grooming. The bell rang and Sam was busy watching the jockey’s until…

“Like that, don’t yah?”

“Yes, Dean.”

Sam turned his head to look at Castiel, his eyes unusually wide and Dean’s face plastered with a cat-and-canary smirk. Following Castiel’s gaze he saw, well… nothing. It was just a horse race, twenty horses running dirt-circles, jockey’s whipping- oh. Castiel seemed to be vibrating in his seat, unable to tear his eyes away from the race and Dean had clapped a guiding hand on his shoulder. Convincing himself he was crazy, Sam took a bite of his hotdog and spent the rest of the race watching the bald man in the next row down.

The next weekend, Sam was doing laundry. It was pretty standard; Tide the hell out of anything that didn’t have bullet holes and hope for the best. Dean had been out when Sam had left, so he’d just grabbed his duffle and threw in whatever else was left on the floor. Sam sorted everything by pants and shirts, underwear and fancy-press, they didn’t have whites. Fancy-press went to the drycleaner and everything else was haphazardly sorted: jeans, jeans, t-shirt, sweater, jeans, v-neck, thong…

“JESUS!”

An elderly Spanish woman made the sign of the cross then glared at Sam from the dryer side of the Laundromat. On the floor (where Sam had dropped it) was a sort of leather… man-panty. Sam didn’t want to spend that much time thinking about it, but it wasn’t something a woman would wear. It was leathery, studded on the seams and built to hold in the vitals. Using a Bounce-sheet like a sterile shield Sam carefully picked up the offending article and jammed it back in Dean’s rucksack vowing never to think or speak of it ever, ever again.

Two weeks later, Sam came home early from the bar.

“You need it, don’t you?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Tell me why you need it.”

“I need to… I need to have- I want to have...” Castiel’s voice wavered, “Orders.”

“That’s right, just like that- bend over, I’m going to-“

Sam never found out what Dean was going to do because he closed the door, went back to the bar and ordered a double of everything that had alcohol in it. That night he slept in the Impala, wishing he had a gallon of eye-bleach, a normal brother and maybe a blanket- it was cold.

The next few weeks weren’t any better, Sam kept finding things.

Ball-gags, paddles, chains- there didn’t seem to be an end to Dean’s tickle truck. Actually, there were a few things that were designed expressly for tickling, but that was neither here nor there.

By the end of the first month, Sam was pretty sure he was losing his mind.

Dean borrowed his jacket and the next morning Sam tried to pay for his Starbucks latte with a dollar-seventeen and a purple cock-ring. Half-past nine the morning after that Sam answered the door in his pajamas, signed for a package from Mistress Woo’s House of Pleasure (courtesy of UPS) and got a scowl from the delivery girl. On Tuesday Sam went to get breakfast and when he came back Dean was singing along to soft rock and Castiel was nowhere in sight. Twice before lunch that day Dean used the word ‘swell’ and once he used the phrase ‘super-duper’. One more colloquial and Sam would have to salt him, just to be sure.

“Well ain’t this a swell spread .”

“They’re pancakes, Dean.”

“With syrup. I’d say that syrup is swell.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Hell yeah, I’m super-duper.”

“Dean... You’re not possessed, right?”

“Christo. Christo. Salty-salt-salt.” Dean seasoned his eggs, “Stop being such a paranoid freak, Sammy. I’m in a good mood, sue me.”

“Yeah, okay. Whatever.”

Sam ate his health-conscious oatmeal and considered therapy.

When it all came to head it was Montana of all places, Sam had found a pair of handcuffs in the glove compartment of his rented car and he’d had enough. He marched up to the motel room door with every intention of making a scene, except that the window was open.

Sam stopped dead in his tracks.

“C’mon- that’s it, just like I told you. Ordered you.”

“Y-yes, Dean.”

“You have all that power. You don’t have to obey but you want to, don’t you?”

“Y-yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Dean.”

Sam would have covered his ears except he wasn’t nine so instead he took three meaningful steps back and waited until it was quiet. In the interim Sam thought about everything that had gone on, and then it hit him; Dean had smiled at breakfast, actually he’d been smiling for weeks. Since he’d come back from the pit he’d been sullen and morose, angry at everything- but not recently. Dean was lively, aware and Castiel- well, he had been so lost without hierarchy and order, structure. It came to Sam like a slap in the face- It was messed up, abnormal and maybe it was wrong but it was working.

Sam exploded through the front door.

“Alright. I don’t want to hear it, I don’t want to see it and I don’t actually want details but I know what’s going on so you can stop leaving Easter eggs in my damn car.” Sam tossed the handcuffs on the floor between his bed and Dean’s guilty expression. “Sock on the doorknob, collar- whatever dude.”

“Where did you g-“

“I appreciate your support, thank-you Sam.”

“Cas…?”

Castiel looked incredibly guilty.

“I was attempting to relieve the tension.”

Dean dragged a hand down his face, “You didn’t…”

“Mistress Woo’s House of Pleasure.” Sam deadpanned.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Cas…”

There was a flutter of wing beats and Castiel was gone, leaving Dean and Sam standing alone in the motel room. Sam's eyes took a minute to adjust and then he realized what he was looking at.

“Are you wearing leather chaps?”

Dean grinned a patted a butt cheek, “Assless.”

“I hate you.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was entirely an opportunity for me to by silly and I'm not sorry about it. On an aside... MISTRESS WOO'S HOUSE OF PLEASURE. I know someone who will appreciate this reference :D


End file.
